THE MORNING AFTER the first episode of the final series of Game Of Thrones screens: and, oh! Here I am, wondering if I’ve ever loved anything this much! This passionately! This purely! I don’t just mean ‘anything on telly’, either. I mean, anything at all. My partner? Weeeeeell… My friends? Meh. My career? Oh, it’s fine. But Thrones? Thrones?
With its passion and its fury, its theme tune that makes my goosebumps rise and its plot lurches that sicken and thrill me in turn? With its scale and its wit, its ruthlessness and its romance, its sex and its gore, its ice, its vice, its outfits? Its nuanced morality, its characters that are neither all hero, nor all villain, but rather, paeans to the endless complexities of the human condition?…
